She me recommaunded, with all pleasaunce,
To daunce true mesures without varyaunce.
O Lorde God! how glad than was I,
So for to daunce with my swete lady.
By her propre hande, soft as any sylke,
With due obeysaunce I dyd her then take;
Her skynne was white as whales bone or mylke.
My thought was ravysshed, I might not aslake
My brennynge hert, she the fyre dyd make;
These daunces truely musyke hath me tought